


Pick Me Up, Love

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Boyfriends, Caretaking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soft Boys, i'm trash, yes it's another sick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: "Mac helps Dennis into their bed. Dennis huffs and squirms and wiggles, poking his socked feet out from under the blankets before tucking them in again. He rolls on to his stomach, gripping a pillow to his chest. He buries his cheek into the fluffiness and glances at Mac with a shy smile."





	Pick Me Up, Love

Dennis is snoring by the time Mac returns from Walgreens.

Good. The dude needs his rest.

Mac carefully organizes his haul; he all but raided the pharmacy for anything and everything that could help Dennis. He puts the popsicles in the freezer and the orange juice in the fridge. He puts four cans of chicken noodle soup in the cupboard, leaving the fifth one out for Dennis’ dinner tonight. He places a box of Kleenex on the coffee table and sneaks into their bedroom briefly, the warmth of the humidifier seeping into his bones. Mac almost kisses him - just on the cheek or forehead - but he’d feel bad if he woke Dennis up.

He keeps the NyQuil, Tylenol, cough drops, and Vaseline on the bedside table and tiptoes back into the living room. Mac folds the maroon blanket - one Mac didn't even know existed - Dennis was using as a cape earlier over the back of the couch. He throws Dennis’ sweat dried shirt in the hamper, where days upon days worth of Mac’s hoodies and thick socks and pajama pants live. Shit. He should really do laundry. But their bedding is riddled with illness, and, if anything’s gonna be washed, it’s gonna be that shit. He can’t risk waking Dennis up, though, because he hasn’t been sleeping great, and he’s never gonna get more better if he doesn’t sleep.

So Mac hunkers down on the couch for the evening, scrolling through Netflix mindlessly until he puts on Bob’s Burgers. He’s watched seven episodes when he hears Dennis’ sharp, rattling coughs grow louder, more intense. Mac’s heart pangs with worry, and he darts into their bedroom because he’s super fast and got super strength - just ask Dennis. But Dennis is sitting straight up, hacking openly into the January air. Mac wraps his arms around his boyfriend, cupping the back of his head with his hand and pulling him close. Dennis coughs against his skin.

He splutters for a while. Dampness soaks into Mac’s t-shirt. Dennis won’t - or maybe can’t - stop shaking. Sweat pours off of him like it’s a blistering day in July. But it isn’t July, and Dennis has tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, and Mac feels his back heaving violently through harsh coughs. Dennis falls asleep just as easily as he woke up, curled against Mac’s chest and drooling, like, a shit ton. But Mac will never mention that because it’ll embarrass Dennis, and then Dennis won’t wanna lay on him anymore.

Mac knows he should get Dennis to take more medicine, but Dennis is seriously messed up, so Mac just leans against the pillows and holds on. Eventually, his own eyes slip closed as Dennis’ snores turn into coughs.

Dennis coughs himself awake at ten in the morning, but that doesn’t stop him from slowly, clumsily, breathlessly climbing out of his blanket cocoon. 

“What’re you doin’?” Mac asks, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

“Gettin’ ready for work, I think.”

He coughs and sniffles. Mac gets to his feet.

“What? You think? No way, dude. Get your ass back in bed.”

Dennis shakes his head. He’s shivering uncontrollably, arms crossed over his chest, and legs actually trembling. Mac can see it. He isn’t blind. “‘m fine.”

Mac rolls his eyes. “Babe,” he warns. “Bed. Now.”

“’s fine. ‘m fine. Everything’s a-okay coolio beans.”

Dennis goes to grab a shirt out of the closet, but he ends up swaying and falling to the floor. Mac grimaces when Dennis whacks his elbow on the dresser on the way down.

“Jesus Christ, Den,” Mac whispers, carrying Dennis back to bed. “Just relax, dude.”

His boyfriend - his stubborn, still handsome even with snot dripping from his nose boyfriend - tries to put up a fight, but he’s, like, kitten weak right now, and he can’t win a fight with Mac to save his life. Well, he did try once a few months ago, and Mac may’ve accidentally given him a concussion. Dennis came up on him unexpectedly, and he had to defend himself. It’s his right as a human being. It’s the law of the land. 

But Mac’s job is to protect Dennis, and he doesn’t think he’s doing that great of a job right now. Dennis is sick. Like nearly sicker than Mac’s ever seen him. Like sick enough that Mac thinks he needs a real doctor instead of just NyQuil or some cough drops and tissues. He doesn’t get it though; he makes Dennis wear a coat, hat, and gloves everywhere they go. Dennis takes vitamins along with his prescriptions at night. He drinks a bottle of water for every four beers. He eats something, even if it’s small, for all three square meals of the day.

Mac thought he was doing good at this whole boyfriend thing.

He sighs. Dennis rolls onto his stomach, clutching a pillow to his chest, so he can get a back rub. He coughs, wheezing and almost retching, and his muscles tighten beneath Mac’s palm more than they loosen. Shit. This is bad. 

When Dennis falls back asleep 20 minutes later, medicated and burrowed safely beneath the comforter, Mac calls Dennis’ therapist. Dennis definitely can’t go to therapy today, and the lady concurs and recommends a hospital visit if he doesn’t start getting more better soon. 

And this is how Mac and Dennis end up in the ER on a freezing Thursday afternoon. The sun’s out for once in, like, weeks, but Dennis’ fingernails and lips are blue. Mac sits in the waiting room with his heels bouncing up and down so much they’re about to wear a hole in the floor. His heart thumps. He can’t control the swirling, negative thoughts bombarding his brain all at once. He should’ve come here sooner. He should’ve protected Dennis. He should’ve done his job.

An hour later, Mac’s taken back to a room. Dennis has an oxygen mask thingy covering his mouth and nose. There’s an IV in his left arm and tons of other wires to go with it. A white thingy covers half of Dennis’ index finger. There are deep purple bruises beneath his closed eyes. He isn’t coughing or hacking or heaving or dying. He’s asleep. He looks peaceful. Mac pulls up a plastic chair and collapses in it, resting his chin on the bed and taking Dennis’ hand in his own. 

“Mac,” he hears. It’s low and soft and quiet and barely there. “Mac.”

Dennis’ eyes are glassy, and his hair is flat against his forehead, but he isn’t coughing, and that’s good enough for now.

"Yeah, babe?”

“Hospital?” he whispers. 

Mac nods. “Sorry, Den. I know you hate this place, but your lips were blue, and it really fucking scared me, and I don’t know what I’d do if -”

Dennis stops him. “Hey, stop it, Mac. It’s okay. I was just gonna say thank you is all.”

"Thank you?” Mac squeaks.

His boyfriend nods. “I thought I was dying before this. Hallucinated, I think.”

Mac laughs and grips on to Dennis’ hand like it’s his only lifeline. It may very well be. 

They gab back and forth like little kids until a lady doctor comes in and announces that Dennis has pneumonia, that a lot of one of his lungs is filled with gunk, that he’ll be discharged tomorrow, that he needs plenty of rest, and that he has to take these antibiotics along with his regular meds. Dennis hates pills, so this should be fun.

So Mac spends the day by Dennis’ side. They play gin rummy, and Mac whoops Dennis’ ass because he’s great at everything, especially gin rummy. They watch Titanic on two part VHS; they both cry. Mac coaxes Dennis into eating three bites of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Dennis falls asleep on Mac’s shoulder. A patch of drool forms on his jacket, and Mac swears it’s like that patch of drool belongs there because, honestly, he can’t imagine himself anywhere else.

The next morning, Dennis gets out of the hospital. He isn’t overly thrilled about the breathing treatments Mac has to give him, but he’s okay with it because it means he can go home. Mac bundles him in the heaviest they own, a bobble hat, and thick gloves, and Dennis whines about being a marshmallow. Mac laughs at him. Not only is it pathetically cute, but it’s great because he hasn’t heard Dennis’ patented complaints since he got sick earlier this week. Dennis has barely smiled or talked or watched TV or drank or played board games with Mac.

“I’m not invalid,” Dennis murmurs as Mac carries him upstairs with his super strength.

Mac shrugs. “Too bad, dude. We’re already home. Can’t take it back now.”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t take back.”

He chuckles, shedding Dennis of his marshmallow suit and tossing the pieces on the couch. “It’s nice to hear you voice, Den,” he says sincerely.

“‘m tired…” Dennis pouts.

Nothing’s changed. Mac almost cries.

Dennis is becoming Dennis again.

Mac helps Dennis into their bed. Dennis huffs and squirms and wiggles, poking his socked feet out from under the blankets before tucking them in again. He rolls on to his stomach, gripping a pillow to his chest. He buries his cheek into the fluffiness and glances at Mac with a shy smile.

Mac lifts up Dennis’ (Mac’s) shirts and rubs the small of Dennis’ back until he falls asleep.


End file.
